


A Fleeting Beating of Hearts

by dollylux



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Overprotective Dean Winchester, Semi-Public Sex, Underage Sex, romantic smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-09
Updated: 2019-01-09
Packaged: 2019-10-07 08:17:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17362373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dollylux/pseuds/dollylux
Summary: Sam goes camping with Boy Scouts with John's permission. He doesn't, however, get Dean's.





	A Fleeting Beating of Hearts

Dean obeys John. It’s the cornerstone of their bandaid family. He follows orders, he doesn’t talk back, and he’s Sam’s weakness, so he can usually get him to come around, too. Most of the kids along the Public School Tour of America the Winchesters have been making since 1984 wouldn’t believe it, that the punkass kid in hard rock band shirts with the popped jacket collar and eternal smirk is the good boy in his family, but it’s true.

Usually.

“This is bullshit,” Dean tells John, and he doesn’t even flinch when Dad looks up from his bacon and eggs and raises both eyebrows.

“Is it now?” Dad replies, looking away only to scoop some eggs onto the last bite of buttered toast and pop it into his mouth. Dean’s heart is racing, and he’s so tense on the bench across from his Dad that he’s shaking, but it’s not out of fear.

He’s just pissed the fuck off.

“He’s twelve, Dad,” he reminds his father, gesturing out to the world beyond Rise’n’Shine Diner in No Name, Colorado to where Sam is. Which is somewhere out there. As in not here. As in by his fucking self out in the insane goddamn world. Alone. 

“He carries a butterfly knife and can take down a grown man in thirteen seconds.” Dad sounds surprisingly confident in Sam’s skills, something Dean wishes Sam could hear himself. He’s at a loss for words for a minute, and he uses the time to push his last piece of bacon around in the leftover syrup on his plate and pop it in his mouth. It’s so good, he forgets how worried he is for a second.

But just a literal second.

“We don’t know what’s out there,” Dean tells him, pushing the plate away and grabbing his Dr. Pepper. Dad does the same with his black coffee. They glare at each other over the tops of their cups.

“He’s with--”

“A bunch of civilians!” Dean interrupts immediately.

“A Boy Scout troop,” Dad continues, exasperated to the point where he actually laughs. Dean bristles and leans back in his seat. He knows he’s being ridiculous. He doesn’t really fucking care. “He wanted to go, the troop said they’d let him join them, and he’s got nothing else to do while we’re here. Seriously, Dean. There are eleven other snotty-nosed middle schoolers up there with him. No monster’s gonna pick Sam out of the group and eat him in the middle of the night.”

Dean’s eyes widen.

“Only eleven kids?” He sets his glass down hard, the ice clinking. He motions for the check without looking over. “I don’t like those odds, Dad.”

“Well, shit, Dean,” Dad sighs, settling back in his seat with a sated sigh, his hand dancing on the table for the pack of cigarettes that’s no longer there; Sam got him to quit three months ago. “I don’t know what you want me to do about it. He’s already gone. Up on some mountain probably. You’re just gonna have to deal with it until he gets back on Monday.”

Monday. 

“It’s Thursday, Dad!”

“You ever tried pot?” Dad asks, throwing down a twenty for the waitress and climbing up from the bench. “I think you need to give it a try. Calm the hell down.”

Dean jumps up, too, and he comes just to Dad’s height. He meets his eyes, and he can’t keep the fear out of his own. He just can’t.

“I’ll never calm down when it comes to Sammy,” he says, and it’s so true that Dad looks away, giving in.

“What do you wanna do?” Dad asks, resigned. It’s freezing outside, the sky packed with snowclouds and a grey that seems permanent. The wind whips by and draws a shiver out of Dean as they hurry to the car.

“Let me go up there. Just to keep an eye on ‘em. Hell, I can probably teach those brats a few things.” He tries to sound light, to play it up, but Dad’s studied gaze aborts it.

“You better pack everything you could need. You hear me? Everything. And if you’re not ready before noon, you’re not leaving ‘til tomorrow. Radio said a snowstorm’s heading in tonight.”

The locals are being terrorized by a yeti or something. Dad took the case just so he could do a brewery tour of Colorado. Dean can’t wait to get the fuck out of here.

“I’ll be ready,” Dean promises.

 

\--

 

He’s got a Dad-approved pack on his back and his newest boots on. The cold numbs his face before he even hits the trail, but he’s determined.

The six miles up to the campsite pass in a hyper-focused fog.

It’s right where the Scout leader’s wife said it was, the coordinates lining up and dropping Dean off on the doorstep of a neat crowd of tents and a bright, warm fire with a dozen bodies gathered around it.

Dean’s spotted before he means to be. One little boy lets out a shriek that sounds like it belongs in a horror movie.

“YETIIIIIIIIIIII!”

Eleven other faces turn to Dean. He freezes, holding up gloved hands, his breath billowing out in white plumes in front of him, obscuring his face.

“No, no, no! I’m Dean Winchester. Sam’s--”

“Dean?” 

One faceless lump stands up and stands out from all the others. Dean sways on his tired legs, but his smile is effortless.

“Forgot your toothbrush,” he says.

Sam rolls his eyes, his cheeks pink from the cold and from embarrassment. He hurries over as the rest of the troop very slowly turns their attention back to the fire. Sam’s long legs bring him in front of Dean, and he’s still so little that Dean has to shove his hands in his pockets to keep from reaching out for him and trying to warm him up.

“What the hell? What are you doing here?” Sam stage-whispers when he gets close enough, and he looks a little more pissed than Dean had hoped. Now it’s Dean’s turn to be embarrassed.

“I just… didn’t like the thought of you bein’ up here all alone--”

Sam glances back at the gaggle of humans before meeting Dean’s eyes again. Dean frowns.

“They’re civilians, Sammy.”

“We’re camping, Dean. Not fighting a guerilla war.”

“Why would you fight with gorillas?” Dean mumbles just to make Sam smile. 

“Idiot.” Sam takes a step closer to Dean, in his space so completely that Dean can feel his warmth. 

“Just here to keep an eye on you.” Dean ducks his head, as aw-shucks as he gets, and he can feel how much it charms Sam. It always does. “Wanna make sure you’re safe.”

“Do you even know how to kill a yeti?” Sam asks him.

Dean rolls his eyes, nudging Sam with his shoulder as he pushes past him and looks for a spot to set up his tent.

“No such thing as yetis, dude.”

“That’s what you said about Ace of Base fans,” Sam replies, helping Dean get the pack off his shoulders and rifling through for the candy he knows Dean brought. The smile plastered on Dean’s face is humiliating.

 

\--

The snow starts up an hour after sunset, and Dean can’t hide his annoyance for the shitty idea to come up to the top of a goddamn mountain on spring break. He sequesters himself in the tent he’d brought to share with Sam, and he has a dinner of hot chocolate from Dad’s thermos and half a bag of Bugles. Sam ducks into the tent with two s’mores and snow in his hair.

Dean loves the smell of snow on his brother.

“It’s got Reese’s instead of just chocolate,” Sam tells him, handing Dean one of the graham crackered mouth orgasms and curling up on the sleeping bags across from him, sitting so close that their knees are touching. Dean moans after his first bite and licks his fingers clean when it’s all gone, and he’s so spoiled by Sam, so used to his amusement and naked adoration that he doesn’t even react to the little smile tugging at Sam’s chapped lips.

“Here,” he says, handing Sam the Carmex from his pocket and settling back against the sleeping bag, using his jacket as a pillow. It’s freezing in their tent, but Sam’s body heat is honestly life-saving. He curls up next to Dean, nestling in under his smelly armpit and tucking his cold nose against Dean’s neck.

“Quit it,” he complains, but he pulls Sam closer. Keeps a hand on the back of his neck. Sam rustles and fidgets and gets comfortable, and he sighs once he’s settled. Dean can tell he’s exhausted.

“Glad you’re here,” Sam says, the words muffled against Dean’s throat, but he hears them. He swallows past the lump in his throat, fingers pressing in firmly to knead the nape of Sam’s neck, under the too long fall of his hair that’s now grazing Sam’s chin. Dad’ll make him cut it any day now.

“Sure you not embarrassed that your big brother showed up like some overprotective Margaret White or somethin’?”

Sam wiggles a little more, and when Dean cracks an eye open, he sees Sam propped up on his chest, smiling down at him.

“Never,” Sam replies. It’s strangely soft, like a touch. The light from the lantern in the corner dusty and gold, coating them in shadows and making this more romantic than it probably should be. It explains, at least, why Dean reaches up to cup Sam’s cheek.

“Couldn’t stand the thought of you up here. Of somethin’ happening to you and I couldn’t do anything about it. Wouldn’t even know until--”

“Always keep me safe,” Sam sighs, and he’s suddenly so close that Dean can smell the slick lip balm on his red mouth and the peanut butter he’d just eaten. Sam’s little chest is pressed against his own, and Dean only realizes then that he’s holding onto Sam’s neck and his face, and it’s so easy to pull him in closer because Sam wants to come, so easy to lean up and catch his mouth like this is marriage, like they do this every night. 

Like this is their goodnight routine.

Sam’s mouth is sticky with Carmex and warm from being overlicked, and Dean draws his whole bottom lip into his mouth to suck on, swallowing down the taste that will never make him think of anything else ever again, not for his whole life. Sam’s arms fly up around Dean’s neck, and he’s holding on like he’s about to fall, like Dean is actively keeping him safe.

His moan shouldn’t be so pleased, and he knows it.

“Sammy,” he sighs, hand sliding up into his long hair and tugging on it to pull him back. Sam’s eyes are fluttered most of the way closed, his mouth soft like he’s ready to be sucked on some more, fed from. Dean grits his teeth and prays Sam can’t feel how hard he is. “This ain’t… we can’t--”

“Dean, ‘m cold,” Sam says, manipulative and young. Dean sees right through it, but he falls for it because he wants to. His heart is banging on the cage of his chest, seeking out Sam. 

“Told you to put on another thermal,” Dean replies, almost swallowing his tongue when Sam shifts on top of him again and throws a leg over his body, straddling Dean now, perched on his lap like he’s found where he belongs in life.

Dean would never, ever fucking argue with that.

“Make me warm.” Sam is blurred by shadows and so light on Dean’s body, but his hunger is real, takes up the whole tent. He grabs Dean’s hands and pulls them to his chest, cradling them under his own, and Dean swears he can feel Sam’s heartbeat through all the layers, swears the cadence of it is familiar. Everything about Sam is familiar. Like it came from Dean first.

“Make me warm, Dean. Make me warm.” His little thighs spread on Dean’s lap, and the way his body presses down sucks all the breath from Dean’s lungs, draws all of his attention to his cock as it hardens beneath his baby brother. Sam is chanting now, lost in some kind of spell building up between them, once that Dean fell into too long ago and has never had a change of getting past.

When you fall in love with your brother, that shit’s forever.

“God, Sammy.” Sam’s ass fits in the spread of one of Dean’s hands, and he uses his grip to pull and push him, to guide Sam into movement, to show him how to ride. Sam’s a natural, of course he is, and he spreads his thighs and digs in deeper, giving and getting as much friction between their bodies as he possibly can. The other hand is still tangled in his hair, lost in the wilds of it just like they’re flung in some forgotten place in these woods, and Dean wishes with every bone in his body and on every star in the sky that they were alone up here, that nobody else was up here, and he could spend the span of a blizzard learning his little brother’s body inside and out.

Sam makes kitten sounds when he rides. Dean pulls the blankets up around Sam’s shoulders and back and pulls him to lay almost prone against his body, keeping them pressed tight together. 

Dean takes his job seriously. He’s gonna make his boy warm, goddamnit.

“Get it, babe,” Dean encourages him grinding up into Sam’s rhythm without missing a beat, and he’s so fucking hard in his pants that his cock stirs painfully, pushing at the thermal underwear under his jeans and begging to be released. Dean wouldn’t trust it any closer to Sam, so it stays where it is. He pulls and pushes Sam on top of him with firm grip on his back belt loop.

“Dean,” Sam huffs. He’s begging. He’s shaking so hard that Dean can hear his teeth chatter. He kisses and kisses and kisses him. The blankets rustle and the tent rocks a little, and Dean hopes every other Boy Scout out there is focusing on their shitty camp song and not looking over at the Winchester Weirdos tent. They’re even weirder than any of them could imagine.

Dean stuffs a hand down the back of Sam’s pants and rubs at his ass, his middle finger sliding between his cheeks to land on his asshole. Sam gasps, his hips flying forward, tense and trembling.

“Yes,” he stutters. Dean can feel Sam’s heartbeat between his long, skinny legs where it’s pressed against Dean’s cock. Dean rubs at Sam’s asshole, dry and ineffective, but it seems to be doing it for Sam. He works desperately at Dean’s crotch, pushing and rocking and he’s hugging down against Dean, his lips bumping and licked clean and his breath is so hot Dean can feel it thawing his face out, leaving his skin feeling prickly and fevered.

Watching Sam come is fucking beautiful.

His hair is in his face, long and stringy and sweaty from hiking and fetching wood and riding his brother’s dick, and Dean pushes a hand back into it and tucks it behind his ear as he pulls Sam down and kisses him through it, letting Sam gasp and punch-whine against his lips. His hips are jerky and young, his butt too small to give much weight, but it’s enough for Dean. Everything about Sam is always enough for Dean.

“I love you,” Sam whispers against his lips.

Dean’s hips lift up off the ground, picking Sam up with them. He comes with a dramatically arched back and with his head thrown back and with Sam clinging to him like he’s a bucking horse. The tent shudders around them, the lantern rocking dangerously when Dean’s boot hits it.

Sam is grinning, really grinning, and he’s all soft boned and purring when he comes to rest on Dean’s fucked-out body and rubs their runny noses together, neither of them minding the cold or the snot. There’s no limit between them. Never really has been.

“You’re such a romantic,” Sam tells him, braced for it when Dean brings a hand back and lazily slaps his ass.

“Why’s that?” Dean replies, letting Sam try and fix Dean’s hair, letting him rearrange them on their messy love nest and pull Dean’s arms wherever he wants them to be.

“You nutted when I said I love you.”

Dean freezes.

“You better not ever tell anybody--”

Sam laughs, high and definitely heard by the nearby troop. Dean grins.

“Yeah,” Sam snarks, resting his head on Dean’s chest and letting the come in their pants warm them up at least a little. “That’s what I have to keep secret.”


End file.
